


Fallout

by ussgallifrey221b



Series: To Build a Home [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Parenthood, dad!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 05:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19387705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussgallifrey221b/pseuds/ussgallifrey221b
Summary: Facing the repercussions of a mission that went on far too long, you try to pick up the pieces.





	Fallout

You keep telling yourself that these things take time. 

However many minutes, hours or days it took to make your way inside the dark and quiet house you're not sure. You had desperately held onto him with each step, fearing if your hand slipped from his that you would wake up in an empty bed once again. Bringing him to the small downstairs bathroom, testing the water for a much-needed shower. Trying to overlook the bruises and cuts and scabs that lingered on his skin as you both undressed. Lathering shampoo through his hair as he hung his head low, hands anchored on your waist. The water mixed with the dirt and blood and tears that kept falling. You clung to each other as the water ran cold. Shivering and covered in goosebump flesh, shuddering breaths and unsaid words in the space between you.

Hands in an unfamiliar beard, tugging at unusually short hair. Hands on your face, your waist, your back - wherever he could touch. It wasn't enough. It didn't make up for over three months of his absence. But the look on his face made you bite your tongue - that was a conversation for a better day. Right now, you were two pieces of shattered glass trying to keep from cutting one another as you gently tried to realign yourselves back together. 

You should be able to sleep at last, with him in your bed once again. But it doesn't come. It can't. Not when you're still questioning the reality of the situation. He knows this, as your fingers keep tracing the curves and angles of his face. Dragging over his eyebrow, across his eyelashes, down the side of his nose, over his cracked lips. Dark eyes watch you with the same shocked panic.  _ I must be dreaming _ .  _ You aren't really here. _

You haven't spoken since you ran into his arms. But as the light outside changes from a black to a light purple, the world beginning to wake up, you find yourself focusing on the sleeping children across the hall.

"They need time." Your voice rough and ragged from crying.

His eyes break your heart.

"It's been too long, baby."

An hour later, he's sitting on the edge of your bed. Back hunched, face in his hands. You sit against the headboard, hands in your lap, gaze steeled towards the door. Silent tears on your cheeks, broken cries from his lips.

You rise when Gabriel starts to stir on the monitor. Struggling up from his knees to hold onto the railing of his crib, staring right up at the camera.

_ "Mama mama mamama," _ he babbles.

Bucky, with a hand on the bed sheets, looks over at the noise, eyes locking in on the little face on the monitor. You shrug on your blue robe and leave the room to gather him up in your arms.

Little hands extend out of the crib, reaching for you. Nuzzling into your shoulder with excited giggles when you head for the stairs. Bucky watches from the bedroom doorway.

With Gabe in the gated-in living room, playing with his sister's baby dolls by dragging them along the floor as he crawls, you start up the coffee maker in the kitchen. Watching from your peripheral as Bucky wanders down the stairs with cautious steps. From your phone, you stream the playlist. Gabe crawls towards the TV at the sudden sound, pulling himself up against the gate to stare at the speakers. Bucky leans against the counter by the fridge, watching him from a distance.

His face is pale, eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed with darkened bags hanging under them.

It doesn't take long for Becca to start stomping around upstairs. Impatient cries for you to come get her  _ now, mommy _ ! You watch his expression crumble as you go to get her. It was always him in the morning, always his job to wrangle up the toddler. You could hear her laughs from the living room as he would carry her down in his arms, upside down, over his back even. But not today, not for the past one hundred days.

She hides behind you when she spots him. His face is calmly neutral, but his eyes give away the pain. You pat her little shoulders as she cowers, "It's okay, baby girl. It's okay. It's just daddy."

She remains with a death grip on your leg, peeking out ever so slightly at the man in the kitchen. You distract her with the mention of the plastic food she had been playing with yesterday, pretending she was a chef and serving you imaginary meals on old wooden bowls. Becca runs off to her little kitchen set, nearly tripping over her brother in excitement.

You make breakfast. He watches them play. You strap Gabriel into his highchair, coerce Becca to sit at the table. Bucky sits at the island, the mug of coffee you had made him is left untouched next to his hand.

He wants to rush forward and just swoop them up into his arms and hold them close, you can tell. But he refrains, holding back until they're ready.

Changing their diapers and clothes after wiping down sticky fingers and crumb-lined faces. They play in the living room. You break up the scuffles of a hyper little girl knocking into her younger brother. The tantrums over who gets to play with that toy right now. Being the human teddy bear as Becca jumps into your lap and Gabe cries when she insists it's her turn. He watches it all from a distance.

After lunches and naps, when you wander outside, he watches from the porch. Letting Becca run through the yard as you chase after the crawling baby, keeping the grass out of his mouth. She picks dandelions and tries to blow away the white seeds. Collects rocks and sticks and places them in a pile on the walkway. You spin Gabe in your arms and he laughs and laughs. All the while, Bucky watches.

It takes all day, but Becca sits down on the couch next to him after dinner. Not paying him much mind as she flips through a book about a woman with too many pumpkins. He keeps it together, hands held tight on his knees as he glances over at the story. She makes up her own narrative, babbling and throwing in random words he can actually make out.

You put her to bed first, letting Bucky watch over Gabe in the living room. And then you're taking him off to his crib for the night. He gives a little wave to Bucky.

"Hi!" He beams with a toothy grin, not quite able to say  _ bye _ just yet.

You don't look back to see Bucky's reaction, but judging by the little hitch in his breath it's not good.

Pulling him into your arms as you lead him upstairs wordlessly. He holds you against him, lips moving down your shoulder as you lay in bed with the sheets loosely draped over your waists. Held tight against his bare chest by a cool metal arm. You don't cry this time.

You keep telling yourself that these things take time. Words need to be had, conversations need to take place, fucking therapy needs to be set up. But for tonight, you have him back. The rest you can figure out later, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on my [Tumblr](https://ussgallifreyfics.tumblr.com).


End file.
